by Sam Michaels
19
On New Year’s Eve, Georgina sat at a table in The Penthouse with Lord Hamilton and Johnny, though she was in no mood to celebrate. She’d enjoyed spending the day with Molly, and Charlotte had been excited to see her sister. Of course, Charlotte had spoken of nothing else other than Tim. Molly had taken Babs’s baby back to the farm in Kent. When she’d first held Steven, Molly had gazed at him in the tender way that a mother looks at her child. Georgina saw the moment and instantly knew that Steven would have a good life with Molly but it had reminded her of how much she missed her own children. She missed Molly too. And though they hadn’t seen each other for years, their friendship had picked up just where they’d left it.
‘I’m just going to check if Elsie is all right in the cloakroom,’ Johnny said, scraping his chair back.
‘No you’re not,’ Georgina snapped. ‘You’re staying right where you are. Elsie will be fine. The Barker twins are on the door.’
Johnny didn’t argue with her and sucked on his stinking cigar.
‘Can you put that bloody thing out? The smell gets right up my nose,’ she growled.
‘Can’t a bloke even enjoy a smoke? Cor, you’re in a right mood tonight,’ he said flippantly.
‘Watch your mouth, Johnny,’ she said. ‘I’ve got you out of the shit twice now. I didn’t break free from Holloway just to sort out your mistakes.’ Georgina glared at him. Yes, she was in a foul mood and didn’t care who knew. Christmas had been miserable without her children. And the new year wasn’t bringing her anything to look forward to. Granted, good things had happened. She had money coming in now. She’d avenged Dog’s death. The police weren’t searching for her. But what was the point of it all if she had no one to share it with? No one to love. No one to love her back. The Top would pay for what he’d done!
Johnny couldn’t argue with her and stubbed out his cigar.
She glanced around her club. It was only half full but Georgina didn’t think that was too bad considering it had opened just two nights earlier. The atmosphere around her contrasted her mood. It felt light and jolly, though Dina’s face behind the bar soured it.
Georgina summoned her over and said quietly, ‘I realise it goes against your nature, but try and smile.’
Dina flashed her a half-hearted false grin but then looked stroppy again.
‘What is your problem?’ Georgina asked, her patience worn.
‘Nothing.’
‘Then smile. All you have to do is serve drinks and be friendly. Either do it or you can find somewhere else to live and work.’
Dina strode off, flouncing her long blonde hair. But when she stood back behind the bar, Georgina was satisfied to see her looking more approachable.
‘That was a bit harsh,’ Lord Hamilton said as he topped up their glasses with champagne.
‘No, it wasn’t. Dina acts like the world owes her a living. Well, it doesn’t. She works for me and I have standards.’
‘As I can see,’ he replied looking around the club. ‘I must say, this is all very tasteful. The piano, the ambient lighting and, of course, the outstanding paintings.’
‘Thanks to Benjamin, except for the paintings of course. I trust he’s shown you the ropes?’
‘Yes, it’s all tickety-boo. I’ve already had two enquiries about the artwork.’
‘Good. Just be careful about who you take out the back to see the Old Masters. Only the most select customers. We don’t want to land in deep water. These paintings on display are fine to be sold as replicas but the ones out back, well, you and me know they’re fake but we don’t want anyone else finding out.’
‘My dear Georgina. I’ve been an art dealer for many years now. You don’t have to tell me how to do my job.’
‘You’re right, sorry. I wouldn’t know a fake from an original.’
‘And neither would most people, which is how we are going to become extraordinarily rich.’
‘Cheers to Geert Neerhoff,’ she said, clinking glasses with Lord Hamilton.
‘Yes, cheers to Geert Neerhoff. The man is a genius in his field. And I’ve never known of an artist who can produce such accurate work at the rate he can. I’m surprised I hadn’t heard of him until Mr Zammit introduced us.’
‘Well, by all accounts, Geert is a very private man. But then I suppose if he’s painting reproductions and passing them off as originals, he can’t exactly shout it from the rooftops. Good for us that he needs someone to sell his work. And talk of the devil…’ she said, her eyes on the door.
Oleg Volkov walked in, his large frame filling the entrance. From across the club, Georgina could see the man had a meanness about him. ‘Are you sure about this?’ she whispered to Lord Hamilton.
‘He has money. He wants original art. Yes, I’m sure, though to be perfectly honest, I would never have dealt with him without you by my side.’
Georgina drew in a deep breath to compose herself. She wouldn’t allow the Russian man to intimidate her, though she did feel extremely nervous about flogging him paintings that she was going to pass off as originals.
‘Good evening, Mr Volkov, pleased to meet you. I’m Georgina Garrett, you already know Lord Hamilton and this is Mr Dymond,’ she said, offering her hand to shake and a pleasant smile.
He put his large hand in hers but she found his grip to be surprisingly gentle.
‘Good evening to you, Miss Garrett,’ he replied, his ice blue eyes looking deeply into her. ‘Lord Hamilton, Mr Dymond,’ he added with a slight nod of his head.
‘Please, take a seat. What would you like to drink?’
‘Vodka, of course.’
Georgina indicated for Dina to come to the table. She was hoping that having a Russian waitress would be of benefit.
‘Yes, Miss Garrett, you would like drinks?’ Dina asked, glancing sideways at the guest.
Georgina covertly watched Oleg’s reaction to Dina, pleased when she saw his eyebrows rise in surprise.
‘Your accent? You are Russian also?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Dina.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘Battersea.’
‘Where are you from in Russia?’
‘I do not know.’
Oleg looked doubtful so Georgina went on to explain. ‘Dina’s father returned to Russia when she was a child and her mother died shortly after. She doesn’t remember much about her early life.’
‘I see, but you speak the tongue of our motherland?’ Oleg asked.
‘Da.’
‘Mozhet byt’, vy khoteli by podelit’sya butylkoy vodka so mnoy? Ya khorosho plachu.’
‘Net.’
Georgina listened, intrigued at the unfamiliar language, and wondered what they were saying.
Oleg threw his head back and laughed. He turned to Georgina. ‘Your woman is not for sale?’
‘No, only my paintings are on offer.’
‘I apologise for my rudeness. It is wrong to speak in Russian in front of my gracious host. I asked Dina if she would like to share a bottle of vodka with me. Please excuse my presumption, I hope I have not caused offence.’
Dina glared at Georgina and spat, ‘He also said he would pay well for me. I am not a whore!’
Again, Oleg laughed. ‘I should know better than to upset a Russian woman. They are, well, Russian,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders in mock exasperation.
‘You haven’t offended me, but I can’t speak for Dina.’
‘Good. Then perhaps I can buy Dina a glass of vodka, nothing more.’
‘Thank you, Mr Volkov, I’m sure she would find that very acceptable. And we can conduct our business later. But only a glass, not a bottle. Dina is working, after all.’
Oleg stood. ‘One glass. It is good for me to speak with a beautiful woman in Russian. I have missed hearing the sound of my language.’
‘Come,’ Dina said and marched back to the bar.
Georgina saw her pour them both a
neat vodka and then she sat on a stool opposite him.
‘I hope Dina is an asset and can be trusted,’ Lord Hamilton whispered.
‘Don’t worry about Dina. She can be trusted. And she hates men.’
‘I’ve always found her to be affable enough, maybe a bit stand-offish. I’m a man, I’ve never had the impression from her that she hates me.’
‘You have no desire to take her to your bed.’
‘True. There’s only one woman for me but unfortunately she’s already married.’
‘Oh, who have you got your eye on then?’
Lord Hamilton leaned in closer towards Georgina, his voice hushed. ‘Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon. She’s an incredible woman.’
‘What? The queen consort?’
‘Yes. I knew her before she married Bertie. She was being courted by James Stuart when he was equerry to the then Prince Albert. Alas, I couldn’t win her heart but Albert did, the lucky man. I’m quite sure Albert was aware of my affection for his wife, hence the cold shoulder I went on to receive.’
‘You know the King? And is James Stuart the same man who is in the coalition government?’
‘Yes, dear, that’s him. I haven’t spoken to him since 1922. We fell out over something trivial. And as for knowing King George, yes of course I knew him. But obviously we called him Albert back then.’
Georgina had never believed Lord Hamilton’s fanciful stories of him mixing in royal circles, or that his title was a real one. But if this was a tale, it was a very tall one!
She looked back over to the bar, saying, ‘Excuse me,’ and headed towards the ladies’ toilet. She managed to catch Dina’s eye and covertly indicated for her to follow.
In the toilet, Georgina asked, ‘What have you discovered about him?’
Dina’s nose wrinkled. ‘He is a horrible man.’
‘I don’t doubt that, but did he tell you anything about himself?’
‘He was sent to gulags where…’
Georgina cut in, ‘Where is gulags?’ she asked.
‘It is labour camps for criminals. He became very powerful and worked his way up to vorami v zakone. These are the “thieves-in-law”, the elite criminals who control the gulags. He has the symbol tattooed on his wrist. He likes to show off but I am not impressed, even when he told me he made a lot of money. A very much lot of money. And then Joseph Stalin offered him and many others their freedom if they joined the army to fight Hitler’s invasion of our country. It goes against the code of the thieves-in-law. They should not ally with the government. But Oleg did. He craved his freedom. But he did not stay and fight for Stalin. He escaped here and brought his money with him.’
‘Good work, Dina. Stay here for a minute or two. It’ll look suspicious if we walk out together.’
Georgina saw Oleg was back at her table and talking with Lord Hamilton. ‘Sorry about that, there was a small problem on the door,’ she said as she joined them. ‘I’m very select about the clientele I allow in my club.’
‘As I can see,’ Oleg answered, clearly impressed.
‘I trust you enjoyed your time with Dina?’
‘Yes, very much. But I am not foolish enough to think that she enjoyed her time with me. A strange lady.’
‘Indeed. Dina is quite unique. Now, about the painting you wish to purchase…’
Oleg had been suitably impressed with the reproduction artwork and appeared to believe the works were originals. He agreed to pay handsomely for two pieces, shaking Georgina’s hand to seal the deal.
‘There is one particular painting I would like in my possession. I don’t believe it has been shipped from this country to Canada for safekeeping as many other fine paintings have been. You are obviously a very resourceful woman, Miss Garrett. Do you think you could acquire it for me?’
Georgina thought for a moment. Geert Neerhoff was capable of producing replicas of just about any painting. It meant anything was possible. ‘Leave the details with Lord Hamilton. I’ll see what I can do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to. Please, stay as my guest and enjoy the New Year’s celebrations. Good evening to you.’
Johnny drove Georgina home, the short journey spent in silence. She hated the thought of walking indoors without Dog bounding up to greet her. She had loved that dog. She pushed her pain away and instead concentrated on Oleg’s request. If she could pull it off, it would be very lucrative. But it came with danger. Oleg was a man to be cautious of – after all, he’d been a renowned criminal in his country. She thought about how best to approach it. She could commission Geert to reproduce the original and pass it off to Oleg as the real thing. But it was risky. She already feared the consequences of him finding out that the paintings he’d just purchased were fake. Was it worth jeopardising her life for again? Or maybe, just maybe, she could get her hands on the original painting that he’d requested.
*
Geert Neerhoff sat naked in the alcove, looking from his studio window onto the dark streets below. He pulled hard on a cigarette and watched the exhaled ribbon of smoke curl up and around the small alcove, illuminated by the moonlight. The graceful swirling of the smoke looked beautiful. He wished he could capture it in his paintings. But Geert lacked imagination. Yes, he was a brilliant artist, one of the best, but only when copying great masterpieces. His own work lacked vision and depth.
‘I suppose you’ll be rushing home to spend New Year’s with your wife?’ Eva asked.
Geert turned to look at his nude lover, lying on the sofa with just a wool blanket draped over her legs. He sighed heavily and answered, ‘I should, but what’s the point? She rarely knows who I am.’
‘Come back here then and keep me warm,’ Eva purred.
‘The offer is tempting, but I must finish my work.’
‘Oh, come on, Geert, you can do that tomorrow. It’ll be romantic to see the new year in together.’
He walked across the small studio and stubbed out his cigarette, immediately lighting another. ‘Eva, you don’t understand. Temi Zammit wants this painting in two days. It’s a birthday gift for his wife. You know I’m already neck deep in debt to the man. I can’t afford to be late with this.’
‘But I thought you said he’d introduced you to that woman who is going to buy your paintings. Surely you’ll be able to pay Mr Zammit what you owe?’
‘Miss Garrett isn’t paying much for my work, a pittance of what my paintings are worth. What she pays will barely cover the rent on this studio and the fees for Doris’s nurse. I had to accept, what else could I do? It’s better than nothing.’
Eva sat up and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. ‘It’s not fair. I bet Miss Garrett is making a small fortune on your work. Why can’t you sell the paintings yourself?’
‘I don’t know who to sell them to. Temi Zammit doesn’t pay me anything. The paintings I do for him go to paying off my debt. I’ve tried galleries, markets, even advertisements in the newspapers. I’m a poor artist, Eva. I’ll never be in a position to buy you furs and diamonds. Well, not until Doris dies.’
‘Your bloody wife is the bane of my life,’ Eva huffed. ‘Can’t you just put a pillow over the old girl’s face? I mean, let’s face it, she wouldn’t be any the wiser and you’d be putting her out of her misery.’
‘Eva! Don’t be so wicked,’ Geert said with a mischievous smile, ‘though it would solve my financial problems. But no, I couldn’t murder Doris. She’s old and senile but she’s still my wife.’
‘Some blinkin’ wife. She’s more like your grandmother!’
‘She wasn’t when I married her.’
‘Yeah, well, you should have thought about the future. Fancy that, a bloke of twenty marrying a woman of forty-five. Yuck, the thought of it turns my stomach.’
‘Doris was a very attractive woman and she seduced me. I was young, it was exciting. But you’re right. I couldn’t see past the end of my nose. It never occurred to me at the time that twenty years later, I’d end up looking after an old woman. But when she d
ies, the house and her savings will be mine. We just have to be patient.’
‘If you say so. But do you love her?’
Geert sat on the sofa close to Eva and took her hand in his. ‘I care for her. But it’s you I love,’ he said, and held her hand to his lips. ‘I don’t want to leave you but I’d better get some work done and then go home. Doris will need feeding.’
‘I thought the nurse did all that stuff?’
‘She does but I’ve had to cut her hours down. She only comes in twice a week now.’
‘You’re a bloody saint, you are. Caring for her like you do. Not many men would do what you do.’
‘It’s only fair. I’ve always been a struggling artist but when I came from Holland with nothing and met Doris, she gave me a home and paid for everything so that I could indulge my painting. She has looked after me for years. Now it’s my turn to look after her.’
Eva stood up and allowed the blanket to fall from her shoulders. She walked across the studio and gathered her clothes from a stall in front of an easel. He watched, admiring her hourglass figure and pert bottom. Her blonde hair, the same colour as his own, tumbled down her back. He’d have liked to paint her and capture her beauty but didn’t believe his efforts would do her justice.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow then,’ she said sullenly. ‘Happy New Year.’
‘Wait, Eva, I’ll walk you home. I don’t like the idea of you being out in the dark alone.’
‘But I thought you had work to do?’
‘I do. I’ll see you home, check on Doris and then come back to my studio.’
Eva lived with her mother and two sisters a few streets from his studio and after walking her to her front door and tenderly kissing her goodnight, with a heavy heart, he headed for his own home in a smarter part of Battersea.
When Geert walked indoors, the house was in darkness but he could hear Doris moaning from the bedroom. He threw his coat and hat over the newel post and trudged up the stairs.
‘Mother… Mother… Is that you?’ Doris called as he approached her bedroom.
It seemed she wasn’t having one of her rare lucid moments. Doris’s mother had been dead for years. He pushed open the door and turned his head in disgust at the rancid smell. Doris had obviously soiled herself again.
